One Man's War
by Draugvr
Summary: Erik has always considered himself alone in the world; the only one fighting for a lost cause. Then he meets the family he never knew he had. And when that family is placed in danger, he suddenly discovers what it truly means to be a father. [Post Days of Future Past]
1. Chapter 1

**Hesperia, Michigan**  
 **1975**

She had never liked the dark. As a child, she never slept without a light. She wasn't ashamed to admit that she was afraid. Contrary to what people told her, she knew better. There were _indeed_ monsters lurking in the shadows. Those that didn't believe in them simply hadn't encountered them yet, and not many who did lived to confirm the stories.

She tightened her jacket around her as an icy breeze traveled through the streets. Tonight she'd have to find somewhere to lay her head. Somewhere _warm_ if she wanted to survive. The town was small, but there had to be at least _one_ place that would remain open during the night. Or at least late enough for her to hide in the back room and get a few hours of rest.

There was a distant crackle and she practically jumped out of her skin when the light above her burst. There was another light up ahead, but where she currently stood had been swallowed up by the darkness. She immediately froze, every hair on the back of her neck standing at attention. She held her breath, eyes darting around blindly as she looked for any movement within the shadows. Nothing. She took a step forward, then another. A soft sigh of relief left her chapped lips and she tucked her hands underneath her arms again.

Then something stopped her. It was like a cold hand had grabbed hold of her ankle, yanking her backward with such force that she barely had time to scream before she hit the pavement. Her legs burned as she was dragged further into the dark and she struggled to get her bag off of her shoulders. If she could just get inside— She let out a pained cry when the same hold on her legs went for her arms, restraining them at her sides. It lifted her up, leaving her bag on the ground. Fear consumed her thoughts. The street was empty, the buildings abandoned. No one would hear her scream, though she still tried. The grip tightened, ripping her voice away. She closed her eyes, fully prepared to let the darkness consume her.

Instead, she was dropped with a thud and greeted by a bright light. When she opened her eyes, she saw a man standing in front of her, holding the flashlight that had rolled out from her bag.

"You dropped this," he stated as though he hadn't just saved her from a hostile shadow.

He helped her to her feet and she looked behind her. The shadow was gone - for _now_ at least. "Thanks," she mumbled.

"Don't worry about it." The man shrugged, giving her a small smile. "You wanna get somethin' to eat?"

* * *

"So, you wanna tell me what that thing was?" The stranger, who had introduced himself as Jeremy, popped another fry in his mouth.

"Fear," was the quiet response.

Jeremy raised an eyebrow. "You don't look like a girl who's easily spooked." It was an honest assumption. Her head was shaved, studs decorated her face, and he noticed the ink covering her neck and hands as she slid off her coat.

"Have you ever had one of those nightmares," she began, hesitantly reaching for a fry, "where you can't really tell if you've woken up at the end of it? It's like, even if you _are_ awake, something from your dream followed you? You're checking every corner and waiting for whatever scared you in the first place to jump out and grab you?" Jeremy nodded once, eyes wide. "That's my curse. My fear comes to life. I should-I should be able to control it, you'd think I'd be able to control it." Her blue eyes grew glassy and she pushed her plate away, biting her lip. "The irony is, I'm too scared."

After a period of tense silence, Jeremy let out a low whistle. "Are you staying anywhere in particular?"

* * *

Being back out in the cold wasn't so bad, not with an arm around her shoulders. She couldn't help but smile at Jeremy as he let her towards his apartment. It was rare for her to find someone so open-minded, so caring to someone like her. With everything going on in the world, she had feared being truthful, _especially_ to strangers. Yet there was something about Jeremy. Something different, something _safe._

"So, what's yours?" she finally grew the courage to ask.

Jeremy glanced at her, eyebrows raised. "What's my what?"

"You're a mutant, right?" She nudged him playfully. "C'mon, I haven't met a human who's so open to taking someone like me to his house before. I was honest with you, now it's your turn. What do you do?"

Jeremy sighed, a small smile playing at his lips. "You caught me," he admitted, stopping and turning toward her. He couldn't help but beam at the hopefulness in her eyes. She had finally found someone who understood, someone who would make sure she never felt alone. "You wanna know what I do?" Before she could answer, Jeremy had already placed a gun to her neck. It let off a hiss as he pulled the trigger and her wide eyes suddenly clouded over. He kept her upright even as she went limp in his arms, sighing softly. "I rid the world of afflictions like _you."_

* * *

 **Washington D.C**  
 **1976**

Wanda hated love stories. Well, maybe _hate_ was a strong word. She was jealous of them. In every single movie she watched, every book she read — she found herself envious of the main character. The female protagonist was always young, beautiful, and she never failed to win over the best looking guy in town. But most of all, Wanda envied the fact that she was _normal_. She could have regular relationships; friends that stuck by her side and a cute boyfriend who would tell her that he loved her no matter what. She didn't have to worry about stifling her emotions; she could laugh, cry, and yell without something terrible following suit.

She wasn't a _freak._

Huffing a frustrated sigh, Wanda got up and turned the television off before crawling back onto her bed. She lifted her pillow and pulled out a red leather book. Her mother had given it to her three Christmases ago and in it she wrote all of her dreams; basically her imagination running wild on what it would be like to have a normal life. A normal family, a normal _boyfriend._ She clicked her pen a couple of times before beginning to write, putting herself in the shoes of the main character in the movie she had just watched. She was so enthralled by the tale, she barely even noticed her bedroom door creak open until it was too late and her journal was ripped out of her hands.

She stared at the empty space blankly for a total of two seconds before she sat up. "Give it back, Pete!" she hissed, eyes shooting daggers at the silver-haired boy that was now leaning against her closet doors.

Her brother responded with an overly dramatized gag as his eyes scanned the page. "Okay, I'm pretty sure _that_ never happened," he stated beginning to flip through the rest. "This entire book is just a bunch of— _ew_. Are you trying to become a writer, Wanda?" Wanda pressed her lips together, cheeks flushed as Peter suddenly appeared next to her, comfortably sprawled out on her bed. "I bet it'd sell even better if you added the part about you having _badass_ superpowers."

"Give it back, jackass _,_ " she demanded. Peter made another face before tossing the book back to her, hopping up and returning to his place on the wall before his sister could kick him. "Don't you have, like—I dunno, _chores_ to be doing?"

Peter glanced at her incredulously. "I finished those an hour ago. I beat all my games. I thought about going to get another one, but mom told me to stay here and bug you."

 _Well, damn._ She understood her mother's concern, to a point. Her brother had always been a bit of a kleptomaniac, starting a couple years after his powers first developed. Lately, he had been into grabbing bigger things and had practically turned his room into a miniature arcade. "Are you sure she didn't mean Katie?" Although they were twins, their six year-old sister was much more apt to put up with Peter long term; they had they same maturity level, so they got along just fine.

"Ha-Ha," Peter rolled his eyes. "Mom dropped Katie off at Todd's this morning. It's his weekend." A split second later, he was back on the bed, arm thrown around Wanda's thin shoulders. "It's just me and you, sis'!"

Wanda scowled, elbowing him in the ribs. "Remind me to add in my novel that I'm an _only child."_ Peter stuck his tongue out at her before not-so-gently yanking on her hair. She waved her hand just as he got up and she bit back a smile as a red wisp caused him to tumble just outside of the door. The smile faded when she heard something break in his fall.

"Mom! Wanda broke your vase!"

* * *

"How long do you think it would take me to run around the world?"

Wanda rolled her eyes, making a face at the ceiling. It had officially been two hours and she was actually surprised that she hadn't knocked her brother out. His constant chatter was slowly evolving into torture as opposed to a simple punishment. It turned out the vase had been their late grandmother's and their mother had appeared rather distraught upon finding it destroyed. She was quiet and didn't scold them—which was terrifying in itself—instead picking up the shards and weakly telling them to 'stay together'. Wanda assumed it was her way of punishing both of them; forcing Peter to be confined to the house and forcing Wanda to be with him. "You'd get distracted before you reached New York."

Peter opened his mouth but opted not to argue. She had a point. Considering how slowly he viewed the world, it wouldn't be unlike him to get preoccupied by a rainstorm or a leaf falling from a tree. "I bet it'd take less than an hour," he concluded with a determined nod. "We should try it."

Wanda raised an eyebrow, turning on her side to eye the boy suspiciously. "Right now? You want to run around the world _right now?"_

An impish grin appeared on his face and Wanda felt her stomach churn. She tried to fight the excitement that bubbled within her, knowing that it wasn't her own. She _knew_ that look. It was the same look he'd get before he went on a 'raid'.

"Why not?" he laughed, stretching his arms out. "It's not like we're going to do anything else. You can't tell me that you don't wanna get out of this dump." Wanda didn't respond and Peter took her silence as a cue to continue. "I _know_ you do. Every single page of that dumb diary of yours takes place somewhere other than here." He suddenly grew quiet and the excitement vanished, replaced by something _calmer_ but no less determined _._ "We don't even have to go around the world. We could just... leave. Go some place where people won't look at us funny or make us feel like freaks. Wouldn't have to worry about school, about people calling us names and making fun of us. Wouldn't have to worry about breaking mom's stuff or upsetting her all the time because we can't get a grip."

Wanda knew that he was no longer talking about the both of them. She, of course, shared the trials that came with being a mutant, but their experiences differed. Wanda was naturally introverted. She could survive without friends, without acceptance, though she secretly craved it. She was able to control her gift, to an extent, in public. Most first impressions labeled her as a regular teenage girl, and she never allowed anyone to get close enough to see otherwise. Peter, on the other hand, stood out and he _needed_ acceptance. With his silver hair, pale skin, light eyebrows and striking dark eyes, he was far from the average teenager and that made him a target to be bullied or ostracized. Not to mention he was _impulsive._ His emotions were never hidden and he let them control his decisions and actions. That's why he had over a thousand stolen sweets stacked up in his room.

Wanda placed a hand on her brother's arm, fully prepared to give him a half-assed speech on how everything would be okay, but she was interrupted by the door practically flying open. Startled, she sat up with a hand on her chest. "Mom, what the _hell?_ Knock much?" she joked, but her amusement was short-lived as she took in her mother's appearance. The color had drained from the woman's face and she appeared to be on the verge of tears. "Mom, what's wrong?"

"I didn't do anything," Peter immediately whined, grabbing a pillow and covering his face with it. Muffled, he added, "I've been here with Wanda the entire time—"

"Peter," both Wanda and her mother tried, but the boy continued to talk over them.

"—bugging her, just like you said. We were about to get into a really deep conversation though, I could feel it. But mom, I'm really sorry about the vase, don't—"

" _Pietro."_

Both twins fell silent at their mother's voice and Peter tossed the pillow aside and finally sat up. His mother _never_ used his birth name — not even when she was angry with him. When she was angry, Peter hardly gave her time to say anything at all before he ran off and left her to rant to Wanda about his wrongdoings. That aside, all it took was one look at the woman to know that she wasn't about to scold them over some old vase.

Peter was by her side in less than a second. "Mom? What's wrong? Are you okay? Are you sick? Do you need me to call 911? Sit down, okay? Hey Wanda—"

"Sweetie." She silenced her son by placing a trembling hand on his cheek and Peter noticed the glassiness gathering in her eyes. "I need both of you to listen to me very carefully. You need to gather your things—no," her eyes darted around the room, wide and fearful as though she expected the walls to cave in on them at any moment. "No, I don't think there's time for that," she muttered before gripping Peter by the shoulders, shaking him slightly. "You have to—You _must_ go. You must go _now._ "

Wanda slowly got to her feet. She could feel her mother's hysteria — fear, terror and so much _guilt_. She was also picking up Peter's confusion and worry, if it wasn't already obvious by the boy's wide eyes. "Mom, you aren't making any sense. Where do you want us to go? What's going on?"

Her mother stepped back suddenly, hands covering the lower part of her face as her teary eyes looked between the two teenagers. "God, what have I done? I should have realized sooner—I watched all the programs and I heard the warnings but—Oh, _God."_

"What the _hell_ is going on?" Peter finally demanded, voice much louder than intended. Wanda knew that he was afraid, she was starting to feel the same way.

Pulling herself together, their mother took a deep breath. "Earlier this week I noticed a van, dark windows, patrolling the block. I thought maybe it was security for one of the neighbors, but—God, I was so foolish. Of course it wasn't for them. I should have known," her voice broke off into a sob. "I'm so sorry."

"I don't understand," Peter admitted, but his voice had lowered to a whisper and Wanda felt his fingers slowly curl around hers.

"They've been watching us," Wanda slowly clarified, eyes widening.

Her mother shook her head and Wanda could almost hear her heart breaking as she spoke. "They've been watching _you._ Both of you. At first, I thought it was because of Peter's run-ins with the law, but— _"_ her voice cracked and she shook her head. "There's no time now. They're going to be here any second. You need to _get out._ "

Peter released his sister's hand long enough to hand over her purse before disappearing. When he reappeared a moment later, he had a backpack of his own. Wanda grabbed a journal and a few of the photos from her desk, shoving them into her purse before rummaging for her keys. "I'll drive," she offered.

"No!" Her mother snatched the keys from her hand. "You two are leaving on your own. Don't take the car. You need to get as far away as possible," Wanda's heart fell into the pit of her stomach and her mother's eyes fell on Peter, "as _quickly_ as possible."

Peter tensed up and he grabbed hold of their mother's arm. "No—No, you're coming with us. We're not going to leave you here. That—That doesn't make any sense. Wanda, tell her!"

Wanda remained silent. She knew better. She knew that her mother had no intention of going with them. It made sense, Peter would put his life in jeopardy if he had to make two trips, and he wouldn't get nearly as far if he tried to transport them both. She gave her brother a look and his face fell.

" _Pietro,_ darling, don't worry." She cupped the boy's face, though tears streamed down her cheeks. "You have to be strong for your sister. And you won't—you won't be alone for long, I promise you. He'll find you. I know he will."

Wanda picked up on her mother's murmuring and tugged on her arm lightly. "Who?" she whispered. "Who do we find? Is there someone that can help us?"

Their mother opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the sound of glass breaking. The bedroom window shattered and Peter's eyes widened as a small metal tin landed on the floor between them. Wanda heard him yell something intelligible and before she knew it there was a hand on her back and the room became a mess of blurred colors. She was suddenly thrown to the ground and distantly she heard more glass breaking and what she feared to be _footsteps._ She could still feel the room spinning and she tried to steady herself using leaning against the couch. It suddenly clicked that she was downstairs and surrounded by chaos.

Though her vision was foggy, she could see the dark figures approaching her. They were armed, she knew that much, and when she heard Peter cry out she was thrown back into reality. Her hands shot up in front of her, crimson sparks flying from her fingertips. The men groaned, knocking into each other before collapsing and she took the opportunity to make a dash for the kitchen. She held out her hand, a knife flying into it just in time for her to turn around and dig it into an intruder's torso. She tried to run back into the living room when she heard her mother scream, but she was pulled back by an arm around her throat and something cool resting on her right temple.

Peter hated the sound of bones cracking, it made him cringe, yet he still twisted the man's arm behind his back, trying to ignore the slow popping that would undoubtedly progress to a full-blown break by the time the attacker realized what was going on. He could hear Wanda screaming in the kitchen but another line of masked bastards blocked his way. They had guns, but bullets had never been much of a problem for him. What _was_ a problem was the fact that his sister was being held in a headlock with a barrel to her temple, while his mother was being cornered by not one, but _three_ figures. Peter approached his mom first, knocking two of the men's heads together and readjusting the third man's aim toward them. He heard the low rumble of a gun being fired to his right and he made his way to the kitchen, shoving the man away from his sister and yanking her from his arms just as the bullet grazed her hairline.

Wanda let out a pained wail as she fell on top of her brother. Her head was throbbing and she was almost sure the wrist in his grip was dislocated. "Are you okay?" she heard him ask, but his voice was muffled by the sound of a gunshot.

Peter disappeared, but Wanda immediately knew he had been just a _second_ too late by the way he suddenly stopped by the stairs. She screamed when she saw her mother hit the floor, and she wasn't sure if the sudden overwhelming horror was her own or Peter's. She saw two of the gunmen collapse just as Peter vanished and she took the chance to run her mother's side.

"Mom?" she cupped the woman's paling face. "Mom, no— Just— Just stay with me, okay?"

Her mother's glassy eyes were already unfocused and she weakly shook her head. "He'll— You won't... be alone... If he knows... He—" Her voice was cut off by a sharp inhale. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth and Wanda barely had time to cry before she felt arms wrap around her torso. Her hands were extended toward her mother's limp form for only a moment before she disappeared from sight entirely.

When the girl hit the grass, she could barely breathe. The queasiness had settled in, but the grief was much worse. Peter collapsed beside her, and she could feel him trembling as he pulled her into his arms.

She didn't know how long they sat there — she wasn't even sure where they were. It felt like ages and she could only imagine how slowly time was passing for Peter.

"I want to go back," she whispered finally. Peter didn't respond so Wanda tried again. "I can't— We can't just _leave her there._ " She tried to get to her feet, but she was met with an overwhelming burning sensation in her head that sent her tumbling back down.

Peter caught her just before she hit the ground. "We can't go back. Some would probably be waiting for us if we did. Mom told us to run..." He paused, rubbing at his eyes. "I think we should listen to her, for once," he added quietly. Wanda felt tears burn her eyes and she let out a broken whimper. She ran her fingers through her hair, a sign of distress, but hissed in pain. When she dropped her hands, she noticed the red staining her fingertips. "We need to get you to a doctor."

"Oh yeah?" Wanda shut her eyes. "Where do you want to go? If they came after us because we're mutants, the hospital will just hand us back to them." Hot tears rolled down her cheeks. "They don't care about freaks like us, Peter."

Peter took a deep breath, staring blankly at the ground for a moment before a memory played in his mind.

 _How do I know I can trust you?_

 _Because we're like you._

It was a long shot, but they didn't have any other options. He gathered his sister in his arms and she immediately pressed her face against his chest.

"It's gonna be okay," he whispered into her hair. "I know someone who does."

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ Welp. I'm not really sure what this is, to be quite honest. I just really wanted more Magneto&Quicksilver interactions, so somehow I came up with this idea. Also note that Wanda is a little more empathetic and AoU-esque. I dunno if I'll continue this, I may just write a one-shot or two. Buuuut, anyway, congratulations on making it through this un-beta'd, messy chapter! Reviews/constructive criticism are greatly appreciated!


	2. Chapter 2

**Buffalo, New York**

 **1976**

Erik wasn't sure how long he stood there staring at the boy's corpse. He was the third dead mutant they had 'stumbled upon' in the last twelve hours and he did his best to put a cap on the anger that formed a heated ball in his stomach as he knelt down by the body.

Looking closer at the boy, Erik concluded that he couldn't have been much older than thirteen. His face still retained a childish innocence that no longer reached his lifeless eyes. The boy had bruises and stitched up scars scattered all over his visible flesh and Erik weakly turned the kid's head to the side. The man's breath caught in his throat when his eyes fell on the black numbers that were inked across the boy's neck. It made him sick—actually forcing him to swallow down the bitter taste of bile that burned his throat.

People often wondered why he thought so little of humanity. Why he always thought that the only way for his kind to live in peace was to _fight_ for their cause. He wished that he could simply show the world things like _this_ _;_ horrifying confirmation proving his theory that the majority didn't care what happened to mutants. Humans wanted to control what they didn't understand, what they feared, and if they couldn't manage that, they'd destroy it. Most, the ones that bothered him the most, simply sat back and watched it all happen. Or they convinced themselves that the brutality didn't exist. That everyone lived in harmony, regardless of the bodies on the streets or the riots on the television.

"Found another one down the road," came a voice and Erik quickly pulled himself together. "Branded, probably been dead about two days. Just like the others." He eyed the two small holes just above the brand before standing up.

"Age?" The young man in front of him shifted, as though not fully understanding the question, so Erik was quick to elaborate. "How _old_ do you think they were, Mortimer?"

Understanding flashed through the man's eyes before they fell to the ground. "Couldn't have been older than sixteen. Just kids."

The nausea returned as the others appeared; a young man and woman, both with identically somber expressions. The man lingered behind as the woman approached Erik, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she noticed the body by his feet.

"Did you find anything?" Erik asked her. She didn't respond, immediately going to toward the corpse and preparing to kneel by him. Erik placed a hand on her shoulder, stepping between her and the dead boy. She refused to meet his gaze, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. "Raven, don't."

Raven tensed before shaking her head, finally tearing her eyes away from the corpse. "We didn't find anymore bodies," she finally said. He wasn't deaf to the slight tremble in her voice. "But _several_ people have gone missing. Authorities aren't that concerned." Her upset quickly dissolved into bitterness and Erik really couldn't blame her. "They say that they're runaways, or the mentally ill, homeless—their way of saying that they don't care about some missing freaks." Erik gave her a look, but he knew that she was right. The deaths would be brushed under the rug, and the parents that _did_ care would soon realize that their worst fears had come to life.

"Who's doing this?" Mortimer piped up, disgust evident. Erik couldn't blame him either. He had faced his own mistreatment and discrimination, and had agreed to join Erik's cause solely in the hopes of _stopping_ it. In reality, it seemed like he was no closer to succeeding with that as he had been flipping burgers in that sorry excuse for a diner. Days like today always seemed to be the worst, opening their eyes to what the world was really like. It was bad enough that mutants were being hunted and killed like animals, but these were _children._

Even so, Erik didn't have an answer for him. They were also no closer in finding who had started the abductions. There were always agencies, broken off from the government, looking to experiment on mutants. It wasn't unheard of, but they also knew better than to allow themselves to be easily apprehended. Even with the bodies they so carelessly left behind held no signature or hint as to where they had been. Raven, sensing Erik's unease, took the opportunity to speak up. "We'll find out. And we'll take them down. This _needs_ to end."

Erik had the sneaking suspicion that she was directing the last statement toward _him_ , as though he specifically would be the one to end it. "We should get back," he finally said, placing a hand on her back. He wasn't blind to the way that she tensed up, pressing her lips together as her eyes darted back to the boy. He knew that look and led her away before she could act on it. She wanted to cry, to run back and take the boy with her. The first time they had seen a _child's_ corpse, Raven had demanded that they give the girl a proper burial. Erik had decided against it, only succeeding in pissing the young woman off.

 _We can't bury them all,_ he had told her. His words probably seemed far colder than he had intended, but it got his point across. She had broken down, said that she never wanted to see a dead child again as she cried into his shirt.

The next day, they found three.

Erik wasn't immune to it, contrary to what the rest of his troupe believed. They took his stony expression as apathy. Seeing dead brothers and sisters—regardless of their age—made him sick to his stomach. Every single time. The only difference was that he knew crying over them wouldn't bring them back. It wouldn't avenge the lives that had been ripped away far too soon, by someone selfish and sadistic, over something they couldn't control.

* * *

"This is getting out of hand," Raven whispered shakily, after they got back to their room. She cast a disgusted look at the bed Erik had so quickly draped himself across. She pulled up an uncomfortable chair, hesitantly lowering herself into it as well. "I get that we're on the run, but do we have to stay in such shitty motels all the time? This is how every horror movie starts, you know."

Erik sighed. They'd had this conversation several times and he always gave her the same answer. "We have to watch our money, Raven. We can't go renting out mansions like Charles' every day." The last bit shut her up, but only momentarily, and as soon as she opened her mouth again he regretted having brought it up in the first place. "No."

"We _are_ in New York—"

" _No_ , Raven. How many times do I have to say it, goddammit!"

"Erik, Charles may be able to help!" Raven protested, desperation sneaking into her voice. "He's _surrounded_ by teenage mutants; and, if you haven't noticed, they seem to be the biggest target for these bastards. Besides, he has Cerebro working again. Maybe he could find them and—"

"Do you want to go back to him?" Erik snapped, sitting up. Raven sunk back into the chair, regarding him cautiously with wide eyes. "Because the last time I checked, _you_ sought _me_ out. You said he couldn't give you what you wanted. You agreed to stay with me and help me with this cause. And now you're backing out because of some dirty carpet?" The argument really didn't make any sense, but _God_ was Erik tired of hearing Charles' name slip from Raven's lips.

She had a point, he would admit that much. If Charles was anyone other than himself, Erik would have already gone to him. A telepath with the ability to find other mutants and those that wished to do them harm. Not to mention one who had a house stocked full of young mutants that all had targets on their heads. But unfortunately he was still _Charles,_ which meant that Erik would not be encountering him any time in the near future. Not if he had anything to do with it.

"Then what do you suggest we do?" she snapped, standing up. Erik's eyes held a unsettling amount of warning, but she ignored it. The small voice in her head told her they had been through too much together in the last years. He wouldn't dare throw her away now. "You want to help these kids, but you aren't doing anything about it! All we do is find their bodies, when its too late. We don't even know who's doing this, we're left to make assumptions. I'm _tired_ of seeing dead children thrown to the side as though they were trash, and nobody caring enough about them. Nobody even _knowing_ about them. And you—you let your pride get the best of you. You're so pissed off at Charles that you won't even ask him for help?" Erik's jaw was set, and she gave him a beat of silence so he could put in his opinion on her outburst. He didn't say anything, only clenching and un-clenching his jaw, blue eyes icy as he waited for her to continue.

"I get it, I really do. I'm pissed at him too. I'm pissed because he's so blind to to everything and doesn't understand—" Her voice cracked and faltered. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before continuing; this time with a much calmer, steady tone. "I'm willing to put aside my own frustration with him so I don't have to see another dead girl or boy who should be playing on a playground with their friends."

Erik's lips had formed a thin line and he let out a sharp sigh, slowly lying back down and casting his eyes to the stained ceiling above. It wasn't that Raven was normally quiet—no, she had no qualms about sharing her opinion with him, regardless of how unwelcome it may be. He had liked that about her, appreciated her fire and spirit. It was admirable and one of the things that had attracted him to her in the beginning. It was a passion that he had once seen in someone else, but her's would not so easily disappear. "What makes you think he'll just let us in? That he'll even bother to help?"

Raven scoffed, settling back into the chair. "Charles is oblivious," she admitted. "But he's not a _monster_. Knowing that children are being treated this way... He has a heart. Knowing that his students are in danger? He'll help." She shook her head, tucking a strand of red hair behind her ear. "He'll help."

Erik hated the way his stomach lurched. "We'll discuss this in the morning." He closed his eyes, though he could imagine the somewhat relieved and proud smirk that was undoubtedly ghosting over Raven's lips. She knew she had him. They both knew it was true. Charles had taken an almost parental role since re-opening the school. He had taken in every young mutant and treated them as though they were his own children. The thought of losing a child—or, rather, the _actual loss,_ would be enough to open any sane man's eyes to the cruel, bitter reality of the world.

It certainly had for Erik.

* * *

 **Salem Center, New York**

"Where's bone-guy?" Peter gnawed at his lip, looking around the office as though expecting the man to walk out from one of the bookcases.

It had taken a little longer than he had hoped to get to Xavier's mansion, meaning that Wanda was not the only one with a deteriorating condition. Charles and Hank had recognized Peter immediately, and though the boy could tell there were multiple questions lingering on their tongues, they went unasked as Peter handed over his sister and promptly collapsed in exhaustion afterward. When he woke up, both he and Wanda were in what appeared to be an infirmary, and while Wanda was still unconscious, Peter was very much awake, which meant a slew of questions and distracting jitters for Hank. The scientist-turned-doctor had called for Charles, who was far from pleased but nevertheless took Peter into his office to finally release the inquiries he had stifled at the door.

"You mean Logan," Charles corrected, wheeling himself behind his desk. "That is a long story," Peter's eyebrows raised and he leaned forward expectantly, "for another day." Trying to ignore the way the boy deflated at the lack of storytelling, Charles quickly continued, "But I would like to know what brought _you_ here. And the girl—"

"Wanda," Peter clarified. "We're twins." Charles' eyebrows lifted but before he could open his mouth, Peter continued. "She's a witch. Well, not really. I mean, she's a mutant, but she has powers. Witch powers. You'll see when she wakes up. She _will_ wake up, right? She'll be okay? Mom said—" Peter's voice suddenly cut off and Charles' fought the relief in his silence as the boy's eyes grew glassy and he pressed his lips together in a thin line.

It was far from what Charles was expecting, so he quickly intervened with, "Wanda will be fine. Hank said that the head wound wasn't as bad as it appeared. Her condition is mainly due to exhaustion and shock. Trauma." Peter nodded his head once, and Charles hesitantly took the opportunity to continue. "Peter, what happened?"

Peter released a long sigh, leaning back in the chair and closing his eyes. This time when he spoke it was much slower than before. It was as though he was struggling to even get the words past his lips. Charles listened intently, picking up on every ounce of fear, regret, and guilt that lingered in the boy's soft voice. He had brought many fragile youth to the school, but rarely was there an occurrence when they came to _him_ , looking so broken and lost. The events of the prior night had happened so quickly that even Peter was still struggling to process it. In less than twenty minutes his home had been broken into, he and his sister had been shot at and almost kidnapped, and his mother had been killed and he had been too _slow_ to save her. Apparently, the event involving the Pentagon had been the first thing that popped into the boy's head. Charles didn't bother asking how he had figured out the location of the school, considering Peter probably found out long ago. He had come seeking help for his sister, along with something that he hadn't had in a long time; safety, free of judgment and ridicule. That was something that Charles could easily give him. What he _couldn't,_ however, was something that both of them equally wanted. _Answers._

"Why?" Peter croaked after sharing his story. "I just wanna know why? Why'd they come after us? What did they want? Why'd they—Why'd—?" His voice cracked and his head dropped, a curtain of silver covering his, no doubt, tear filled eyes.

Charles didn't need him to finish, he knew what the boy was going to ask. _Why'd they kill my mom?_ It was a childish question—they all were—with an obvious answer; she was in the way. However, Charles had long since learned that some situations did _not_ require brutal honesty. "I don't know, Peter," he admitted. "But, listen, you are safe now. No one will be attacking you or your sister. You will be alerted as soon as she regains consciousness." On cue, there was a knock at the door and a second later a young man, a little older than Peter, stepped in. His expression appeared indifferent, though Charles noticed the way his eyes flickered to Peter in apprehension. "Alex," Charles drawled, attempting a smile. "This is Peter Maximoff. He will be sharing your room until further notice."

Peter—the innocently oblivious fool that he was—beamed and turned to face the horrified blonde, mind cleared of any worry. "Hey!"

Alex ran his tongue over his teeth, brows furrowing. "Professor," he began, shifting his weight uncomfortably under Peter's eager gaze.

Charles didn't have to read his mind to hear the _you're joking, right?_ that came from Alex's stare. The telepath only shook his head, smile still in place. "Peter, this is Alex Summers. He happens to be a veteran to this place. He's more of a teacher's assistant, so if you have any questions about how things work, or if you need any help, feel free to ask him."

Alex clenched his jaw as Peter stood up. His eyes widened momentarily as the silver-haired youth appeared at his side in seconds. "What's _your_ power?" Peter inquired, looking at Alex as though expecting some kind of visual hint. Alex simply stared at the boy before looking at the professor. This time the _please tell me you're joking_ was rather loud and Charles' smile became genuine for a split second. He didn't even bother to feign sympathy as Peter darted out the door as soon as it was opened, only to bombard Alex with questions before the blonde could take another step. Alex heaved a sigh just as Peter delivered a quick, 'Thanks professor!' and the two disappeared from sight.

Charles' smile fell as the boys left. It was needless to say that Peter's story had disturbed him greatly. It wasn't as though it was unheard of mutant hate crimes, families being beaten or slaughtered, but this was different. The event that the boy had described was far more than some punks trying to prove a point — this was _organized_ , though they had surely underestimated the Maximoff's mutations. Even so, their actions produced numerous questions that Charles _needed_ the answer to.

He seemed not to be the only person with this in mind, as Hank hardly looked surprised when his friend entered the lab. Charles glanced at Wanda, who seemed to be resting peacefully on a cot in the far corner of the room, and looked to Hank expectantly.

"She's asleep," he sighed, taking off his gloves. "A few stitches, painkillers, and some rest is all she needed. You have a room for her?"

Charles nodded. "Jean shouldn't be opposed to the company." He paused before adding, "I placed Peter with Alex."

Hank raised his eyebrows, a mixture of shock and amusement settling on his face. "He's going to roast him."

"If he can catch him," Charles chuckled. "Besides, they may become the most unlikely of friends." Hank gave him a wary look, but Charles only shook his head, taking on a far more serious demeanor. "Peter explained what happened. He said armed men, dressed in black, had broken into their house. Their mother told them of a vehicle patrolling the neighborhood. She didn't realize what it was until it was too late."

Hank's brows drew together and he glanced at the unconscious girl. "What—Was it some... Government thing? You don't think it has anything to do with Peter's involvement with the Pentagon and—?" He made a slight gesture with his hand.

Charles inhaled sharply, shaking his head. "I don't think anyone knows Peter had anything to do with that. If I had thought he would be in danger, I would have made arrangements for both he and his family. No, Hank, I fear this was something else."

Realization passed over the young scientist's features and he took a deep breath. "The missing mutants? You think they're connected." He said it more as a relieved statement than a question.

"Maybe," Charles admitted. He had been against the idea at first. It was easier to believe that scattered hate crimes were taking place as opposed to planned kidnappings and butchering. He didn't want to believe that there were actually people out there forming organizations with only one brutal purpose in mind. "What I do know for sure is that Wanda and Peter were lucky to make it out of that alive. Which raises another question. Peter mentioned that his mother was shot because he was trying to save his sister. One of the men had grabbed her and put a gun to her head. But he hesitated before pulling the trigger. If they wanted to eradicate mutants, why not just come in firing? Why bother smoking them out, surrounding them, and killing the only human in the household?"

There was a period of agonizing silence as this concept settled between them. "You think they're... Experimenting?" Hank had to force the words out, they tasted awful on his tongue and the color in his cheeks faded with each one. "Mutant experimentation? On _kids?"_

"Well, it is the best age to do so," Charles muttered in disgust. "Their powers are at their peak — strong, unstable, some only just appearing. If you wanted to extract information, those thirteen to twenty are your best targets."

"God," Hank sighed, slumping into a chair. He took off his glasses, rubbing at his eyes before freezing. Charles knew what he was about to say, but still allowed the horrified question to be spoken. "God, Charles, you don't think they know about the school, do you?"

Charles felt an invisible knife dig into his chest, dread seeping down into his stomach. They weren't prepared for an attack. The children came under the belief that they would be protected, safe from those that wished to do them harm. Charles wasn't sure if he could so openly tell them that they were in the most danger. A building full of unsuspecting test subjects — a sadistic scientist's dream. "I don't know," he admitted quietly.

Hank gnawed at his lower lip. "Do you think... Do you think _they_ know?"

A breath caught in Charles' throat, and he unintentionally held it. Hank's slow and hesitated speech ensured that Charles knew who he was talking about. It wasn't as though he hadn't thought of it. A possible mutant-murdering organization? Of course Erik would be aware of it. He had probably come to the conclusion quicker than Charles had, and—if the metal bender did think about Charles as much as the latter thought of him—was probably judging the telepath for having not realized sooner.

"Charles?"

Charles finally began breathing again, the oxygen calming his jumbled thoughts. "We'll figure this out," he said, completely avoiding the question. "Let me know when she wakes up, I'll tell her brother." Charles knew that Hank wanted to say more, to ask him questions that he had no answers to, but the scientist simply nodded and allowed the elder male to wheel himself out of the room. His racing pulse was deafening in his ears as he tried to drown out the impending thoughts. _No,_ urged better judgment, _don't do it. Don't._ Of course, Charles wasn't one to always listen to his better judgment, so he finally stopped halfway down the hallway, head slumped forward and breath coming out ragged and shaky. He basked in the silence for a moment before finally mustering strength.

 _Erik._ He ran into no barriers within the first few seconds, though he still couldn't tell whether or not he had reached the man's mind. _I know what I said, so I'll make this quick. I think something is... Happening. You already know, I'm sure. But, I think I may need your help. If you know anything, anything at all,_ please. To add in what he could not find it in him to say, his mind produced an image of his students, laughing and racing about the long hallways of the mansion without a care or concern. _I can't let anything happen to them. I promised. We both want the same, can't we just_ —He wasn't sure what to add after that, so he simply left it there. He wasn't sure how long he waited — ten minutes, twenty, thirty. It was obvious there was to be no response. Not that it surprised him. He slowly began down the hall, a sense of helplessness causing his hands to tremble against the wheels of his chair.

 _How terrible you are at keeping your word._

The voice was familiar, yet it still shocked him to stillness. Disbelief turned into relief and a small smile played at his lips, accompanied by a tightening in his chest and a stinging in his eyes. He allowed his head to fall into his hands, a position which he remained in until Hank appeared and pestered him asking what was the matter. Charles only shook his head.

 _I'll see you soon._

* * *

 ** _Note:_** Well, a few of you seemed to like the first chapter, so here's another. Still un-beta'd, so apologies for the mistakes. I'm also not actually sure of everyone's canon ages, so basing off DoFP we're just going to say that after Raven got Alex, Mortimer, and everybody out of the army camp, Alex went to Charles whereas Raven, Mortimer, Ink, and the others went to Erik. I don't know, I may have confused myself there, but I'll explain it later. I do actually want to continue this story, so hopefully I'll be able to see it to the end. Eventually. Thanks for the follows and reviews!


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